A Collaboration of Great Minds: Black Magic
by Kylara-Jade
Summary: With the ever present threat of Moriarty hanging in the air, the Great Game continues.  But what happens when another player is added to the game, in a string of necrophilia based murders?  Gory Descriptions in future chaps - Reader Beware
1. Chapter 1

_**Post **__**The Great Game**__** ( 1.3)**_

John was scowling.

Yet somehow the unusually fierce expression on the face of the ex-soldier wasn't quite having the right affect. In fact it looked quite ridiculous coupled with the white bandaged wrapped around his temples. The fact that his wrist was splinted as it rested on the bed that he was sitting by didn't help his case either. Neither did the smatterings of cuts and bruises that covered any exposed skin.

The bed that he was sitting at was currently inhabited by the man at which this scowl was directed.

The world's only consulting detective.

A rather injured consulting detective.

Who happened to be grinning madly.

And bouncing in a rather enthusiastic way.

Surprise surprise.

The fact that his face was marred by scratches and he had a neat line of stitches above his left eyebrow only added to an unbiased observer's assumption that the man was a lunatic.

And they wouldn't be far wrong in Dr Watson's expert opinion. Said lunatic had just nearly got them killed.

Well, maybe it wasn't Sherlock's fault. Maybe it was his. He was an army man, and he had let himself get captured after all.

His scowl intensified, unnoticed by the patient in bed 382.

Hang it.

He was going to blame it on the psychopath who supplied the bomb. Not the highly functioning sociopath that shot it.

No matter how tempted he was.

Said sociopath was still bouncing, earning worrying glances from passing nurses.

"The game is set; Moriarty has well and truly set the game..."

"He TRIED, and nearly damn succeeded, to blow us up." snapped John

"Irrelevant." said Sherlock indifferently

"Irrelevant, huh." murmured John to himself as Sherlock pointedly ignored him "I'm glad that you think that life and general safety are _irrelevant_."

He tried to fold his arms over his chest as he sat back in his chair, but yet again it failed due to the splint.

"John, be quiet. I need to think – Moriarty is a danger that needs to be addressed." said Sherlock as he steepled his fingers in front of his face

"You don't say." muttered John, thoroughly put out by now.

"Yes I do say." said Sherlock, finally having stopped bouncing "And I'm right. I'm always right."

John sighed, resisting the urge to argue the point. No one was always right, and Sherlock was no exception. He was wrong about Harry, amongst other things. Other things that included Moriarty. Moriarty was not a game.

"Sherlock, I think you're wearing down the good doctor's patience." Mycroft's aristocratic voice sounded from the doorway. He leant against the frame, the ever present umbrella in hand.

"Oh do be quiet Mycroft, I'm thinking." Now Sherlock was scowling

"You were very careless, Sherlock." reprimanded Mycroft "You've upset Mummy terribly, and you know shocks aren't good for her nerves."

Sherlock threw his hands up in frustration, nearly jerking the IV out of his arm.

"For God's sake Mycroft, now is not a time to be worrying about Mummy!" he cried "We have Moriarty to deal with!"

John held his breath in the futile hope that Sherlock might take the whole thing more seriously than a kid with the newest video or computer - or whatever it was these days – game.

"Moriarty is a lot more fun than Mummy." he continued.

Promptly, and predictably, said hope was well and truly shattered.

"Really Sherlock, at least try to pretend that you care about Mummy – you know how upset she gets when you ignore her." Mycroft continued as if Sherlock hadn't said anything.

John was growing more frustrated by the minute. He felt cramped, closed in, suffocated in the hospital room. And the Holmes siblings' bickering wasn't making it any easier.

"But Moriarty..."

"Leave Moriarty to the _professionals_ Sherlock"

"So some idiot can be won over and corrupt the whole system? I don't thi..."

"Those on this case cannot be corrupted Sherlock – have a little faith..."

"Faith? FAITH? With you as their head I could hardly have _faith_!"

"You just need to rest and not worry Mummy. I'll take care of..."

"No you won't. Moriarty made it personal with _me_. Therefore I'll..."

"I hardly see how your 'Science of Deduction' can be applied from a hospital bed, Sherlock."

"Then I'll discharge myself –NURSE!"

"For heaven's sake Sherlock, you're in no fit state..."

"I'll be the judge of that...NURSE!"

John rose to his feet slowly.

"Actually, I'll be the judge of that." he said with a veneer of calm, below which he simmered angrily. "Sherlock, you're staying. Mycroft, get out. You're enabling him, winding him up and making everything God damn difficult for anyone in the vicinity."

Mycroft gave a small nod, before bowing out of the room without farewells.

"John..." whined Sherlock.

"Don't 'John' me in that tone of voice Sherlock – I read your chart. You need to stay here – you've just had surgery to stem internal bleeding – you can't go off gallivanting round London in your usual manner. You'll beat Moriarty to the punch and kill yourself before he can." John was firm.

In many ways Sherlock was like a child – majority of the time if you told him not to do something, he'd go and do it, just because it made life that much more interesting. But there were those rare occasions where a logical argument would actually win through, and he'd listen.

Didn't stop him from sulking though.

John mentally told himself to focus on the positives. Even though a sulking Sherlock was a destructive Sherlock.

A nurse walked in, disrupting the comfortable silence the two comrades had fallen into.

"Time for another dosage of your meds Mr. Holmes." she said, her voice as starched as her uniform, as she inserted a needle into his IV.

"Yes, yes." muttered Sherlock sourly.

He waited for her to leave the room.

He turned to John.

"John can I borrow your phone?"

John grimaced.

"I would if it hadn't been damaged by the blast." he said morosely at the prospect of having to buy a new phone.

Sherlock gave a dramatic sigh.

"Any chance of a cup of tea then?" he asked hopefully

Watson stifled the acidic comment he felt like passing, and stood with a sigh, wordlessly leaving the room.

Note to self – A bed ridden Sherlock Holmes is a child dictator in the making, despite his age.

Focus on the positives, he told himself.

They were both alive, maybe a bit worse for wear, but alive all the same.

And something he was eternally grateful for.

_**A.N.**_

_**And thus is concluded my first chapter of Sherlocky goodness.**_

_**Reviews, feedbacks, even alerts to let me know what you think would be much appreciated.**_

_**You all know the drill.**_

_**No rotten vegetables though, please.**_

_**Kylara-Jade**_

_**xxx**_


	2. Chapter 2

The day Sherlock was finally released from hospital was almost a blessing in disguise. John had been hoping it would stem the childish whinging when he had access to his beloved computer and a new phone. Instead the childish whinging had just taken a new direction. The stream of noise from the not yet fully able detective was constant.

"John, my phone..."

"Lestrade wants me to look at the crime scene for..."

"John, _your_ phone..."

"Where's my skull?"

"MRS HUDSON!"

"John, where are my eyeballs, I left them in the microwave..."

"We don't have any milk John..."

It built up over a week – he was supposed to stay in bed for two. It was at the end of the first week that John finally lost it.

"SHERLOCK – JUST SHUT UP!" he yelled, breathing heavily as if he had run one of Sherlock's marathons through London, after the consulting detective had started complaining about John throwing out his decomposing hands from the bread basket.

"I have sat and listen to you whine all week. So let's make a deal – you keep your whining to yourself for two day – two _full_ days, 48 hours – and then the next time Lestrade calls, you can go. Otherwise, I'm locking you in your room for the next week, and meals will be delivered, because I _refuse_ to listen to you anymore."

Sherlock blinked in surprise at his flatmates outburst. John rarely lost his temper to this extent.

"Do we have a deal?" he asked with enforced calm

Sherlock blinked again.

And again.

Amusement began to seep into Watson's expression at the utter confusion that was displayed on Sherlock's face.

"I...I believe we do." said Sherlock slowly, extending his hand.

"Right." The tension in John rushed out in the expelled breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. "What do you want for dinner?"

And just like that, calm – or a relative calm, anyway – descended over 221B Baker Street.

John cooked, and cleaned.

Sherlock stayed in bed, read and recovered.

That is, until 3 days after the deal was made, around 10 at night.

John was making tea – again – as Sherlock abused the television in a very comical manner. Apparently crime shows were completely inaccurate. And quite frankly Midsummer Murders was exceedingly slow, even by Lestrade's standards.

"No, no, NO! Why would you even ask that..."

"It's a television show Sherlock – it's not real." John soothed as he tried not to laugh

"But that blood splatter couldn't even be real, I mean really even Anderson could tell you that..."

At this John lost it, and laughed properly for the first time since the confrontation with Moriarty.

Sherlock looked bemused as his flatmate dissolved into laughing so hard that he nearly spilled the tea he had just been about to hand Sherlock. Soon, Sherlock's laughter was intertwined with his, the subconscious stress that they both felt lifted as their spirits did.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted their merriment. John stumbled over to the door, gasping for breath, grinning like an idiot.

Said door swung open to reveal a none too pleased Sgt Sally Donovan.

She raised an eyebrow at the laughing double act.

"Right." she said, distaste evident in her voice. "Lestrade sent me to get you two."

The laughter stopped abruptly, as John straightened, and Sherlock swung himself off the sofa.

"But...there's been nothing in the papers, no news coverage..." started John

"Meaning you knew you were out of your depth from the beginning. Your getting better John." Sherlock's voice had reverted to his closed analytic tone as his eyes flared with interest.

John sighed.

"It has been two days – It shouldn't hurt."

Sherlock grinned gleefully as he reached for his coat.

"No Sherlock."

Sherlock looked up like a child deprived of a toy

"Not in your pyjamas." smirked John

Sherlock looked down at himself before looking back up at John and dashing out of the room, over tearing of his top as he did so. John picked it up and draped it over the back of the sofa Sherlock had been occupying.

"Got you properly trained, hasn't he?" Donovan said.

John didn't comment on her rhetorical question

"So what is it this time?" he asked

Donovan sniffed, and if John's eyes didn't deceive him, she paled slightly.

"All I'll say is that I hope you haven't eaten recently. Even Anderson was having problems keeping his dinner down."

John looked at her wide eyed. If Lestrade's faithful, if annoying, pathologist was having trouble handling this one it was definitely something new.

"Sherlock's going to love it isn't he." he muttered under his breath

"Speak of the Freak." returned Donovan as the afore mentioned man bounded back into the room in his full energetic glory.

"Come on John, let's not waste time – Sally lock up on your way out." he said as he darted out of the door, with Watson in pursuit.

"Going out Mrs Hudson – Don't wait up!" he crowed happily

"Oh Sherlock, be careful – Are you sure you're well enough?" she answered coming to the bottom of the stairs just in time to see Sherlock dash past in a flurry of black material

"Evening Mrs Hudson" said John as he followed as he heard Sherlock yell for a taxi.

Sally Donovan slowly walked down the stairs, after pulling the door flat closed behind her. Mrs Hudson looked up at her, and smiled sympathetically at her.

"Don't worry dear; those two are always like that – dashing around like mad things."

"Yeah." Sally replied as she made her way out the door.

"Hurry up Sally, you didn't tell us where to go!"

Sally snorted.

"I thought you would've deduced that by now Freak – Hyde Park – Down near that cafe, The Lido, not hard to miss." she yelled back before climbing into her own car, and followed the taxi out of Baker Streat.

It was as Sally had said. Hyde Park was alight with the flashing blue and red lights of the police cars. Small crowds of late night walkers had gathered around the police tape, as stern faced members of the police force in uniform tried to maintain order around the crime scene.

"Move, move...how slow do you people want to be?" Sherlock made his way flamboyantly to the tape, John and Donovan following in his wake, with John muttering the usual apologies for his flatmate's rudeness.

Predictably, one of the PC's stopped Sherlock at the tape. Who started throwing a tantrum. Sally stepped forward with a sigh.

"Its ok – let the freak through!"

"Sally, this one should be fired – he's on drowsy prescription medicine over his regular dosage, he's been fornicating with the WPC over there in the public toilets in the pretence of looking for evidence."

"Sherlock!" groaned John "Really, can you not..."

"Ignore the freak" Sally said to the officer who looked horrified and embarrassed "Just don't let it happen again. Freak, go find Lestrade – you're annoying me."

"Only for you Sally, only for you." muttered Sherlock sarcastically as he strode off towards the edge of the lake, where Lestrade was shouting orders.

"No I don't want those candles blown out – What do you think it is, your birthday?"

"But sir..."

"Nothing is touched until Sherlock gets here."

There was a snort from a crouching man at the water's edge.

"You really pander to the Freak, Lestrade. All he ever does is contaminate crime scenes."

Sherlock smirked at Anderson's surly tone as he walked up.

"No I don't Anderson. I leave that to you."

The man in question stood and spun around in surprise.

"I take it your wife is back Anderson – Sally is no longer wearing your deodorant and she's avoiding you like the plague."

"You..what..."

Lestrade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Sherlock, just look at the body, and give me something to work with."

He indicated to a row boat that was usually hired out for boating on the Serpentine. The dim light of 3 candles could easily be seen from it. Sherlock walked over.

"John..." he said slowly as his eyes glassed over slightly.

"What?" Watson walked forward and nearly gagged at the sight before him, understanding what Sally had said about not eating dinner recently.

"This is why we need you Sherlock – there's literally no forensic evidence, and God damn Sherlock, unless we get a DNA match, how the hell are we supposed to know who this is?"

_**A.N.**_

_**Another chapter down! Yay!**_

_**And study, well, it might have been put on hold...again.**_

_**Hope you enjoyed.**_

_**Thanks to:**_

_**SweetLilNothing**_

_**Hades Lord of the Dead**_

_**for their reviews!**_

_**See you next chapter**_

_**Kylara-Jade**_

_**xxx**_


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